Hello, my name is Mycroft Holmes and today I lost the most important person in my life. Today I lost my brother.
***
My relationship with my brother started out like all siblings. He came into my world through no desire of his own. But I was a happy only child. My parents called me into my mother's sitting room one rainy day in April. My mother was sitting in her favorite chair and my father stood behind her looking so proud.
I stood at the door unsure of what they could possibly want. My mother extended her hand to me and moved closer until I could reach out and take it. I looked at our joined hands, her small slender hands covered my little boy hand gracefully. But then my mother was always graceful no matter what she did.
She tugged on my hand gently, drawing me close. Once I was close to her, she drew me up on her lap. She pulled me close.
"You aren't in trouble Mycroft," she whispered in my ear. The lead weight in the pit of my stomach was gone.
"Certainly not, my boy." His father clasped me on the shoulder and I felt even better.
"We haven't something exciting to tell you," my mother told me.
"Yes Mummy?" My voice squeaked a bit.
"You are going to have a sibling."
I couldn't contain my excitement. I would have someone to play with. They sent me off with a happy smile. But I was a bright enough child to my own research. And came to the conclusion that it would be useless. At least for the first three years. I sighed. I had no doubt that with my parents money they would hire someone to look after the baby's daily needs but it was the screaming that concerned me. I was resigned. There was no help for it. I would be getting this thing whether I wanted it or not.
However, some nine months later, I was standing with my father looking down at the child in my mother's arms. I took after my father in looks. Straight brown hair, round face and if I wasn't careful a bulging waistline. I knew the second I laid eyes on him, that he would take after our mother as he was thin, with a mop of dark curly locks. When he opened his eyes, they were a startling shade of blue.
"Mycroft," she said. "Meet your little brother Sherlock." I walked up to them and smiled down at this helpless creature, that she had called my brother. I knew I would spend my whole life striving to protect him. Little did I know how deeply I would fail.
***
I watched on the monitor as it showed me the limping form of one Dr. John Watson. He called a taxi but it whizzed past him and he grunted in frustration. It was time. I started ringing the first phone he passed but stopped when someone else tried to answer it. So next I tried the phone box. He looked at it and then stepped into it and answered. After I had made sure he was aware I could see him from every angle I told him. "Get in the car Doctor Watson. I could make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."
When he arrived, he looked different then the broken man I had seen in the low resolution of the monitor.
"Have a seat, John." I pointed to the chair I had them put out for the Doctor with my umbrella. He walked toward me limp evident.
"You know, I've got a phone. I mean very clever and all, but uh… you could just call me. On my phone." He stopped a good distance from me.
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." I lifted my umbrella to indicate where we were. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."
"I don't want to sit down." He glared at me and I realized that this is going to be far more interesting than I had originally thought.
"You don't seem very frightened." I goaded him.
"You don't seem very frightening." came the curt reply. I laughed.
"Yes… the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" I failed to get a rise out of him so I pressed on. "What is you your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him…" he stopped to think a moment, "yesterday." He looked away from me.
"Mmm… and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together." I could tell he was straight as they come but I prodded at his manhood. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"
He glanced up at me. "Who are you?"
"Just an interested party." I refused to tell him my name. Why spoil the fun?
"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."
"You've met him how many friends do you imagine he has?" I take a deep breath. This was painful to admit. "I'm the closest thing to…" I looked down and tapped the floor with my umbrella anything to avoid looking him in the eye, "a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."
"And what's that?" I looked up. "An enemy."
"An enemy?"
"In his mind, certainly. If you ask him he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."
He looked up and to the left. "Well thank god you're above all that." He looked me in the eye. His phone goes off and he pulled it out to look at it.
"I'm not distracting you am I?" I was seriously annoyed.
"Not distracting me at all." As he spoke he looks back and forth between me and the phone before he put it away.
I fiddled with my umbrella angrily. "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"
He looked away, "I could be wrong… but I think," he looks up at me, "it's really none of you business."
"It could be."
"It really couldn't." He shakes his head at me.
"If you do decide to move into um…" I pulled out my book of information on all sorts of things. "Two-hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis," I put the book away. "To ease your way."
"Why?"
"Because you aren't a wealthy man." I looked around briefly wondering how he could be so dense.
"In exchange for what?"
"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."
"Why?" He did say that word an awful lot.
"I worry about him. Constantly."
"That's nice of you." The sarcasm was evident.
I looked down, this was becoming more tedious than it was worth. "But I would prefer, for various reasons that my concern goes unmentioned." I looked up as brought my umbrella up and I examined the tip. "We have what you might call call a…" I put down my umbrella so I could look at him, "difficult relationship." Again his damn phone went off and without even looking up at me he said, "No."
"I haven't even mentioned a figure."
"Don't bother."
"Your very loyal very quickly." I told him.
"I'm really not. I'm just not interested." I pulled out the little book for the second time.
"Trust issues it says here."
"What's that?" I ignored him as I flattened out the page.
"Could it be that you have decided to trust Sherlock of all people?"
"Who says I trust him?"
"It says you're not the kind to make friends easily."
"Are we done?" And finally I looked up at him.
"You tell me." He stared at me and then turned and walked off. I put the book away.
"I know that people have already warned you to stay away from him but I can tell from your left hand that isn't going to happen." He whirled around to face me.
"My what?" He was starting to get very angry.
"Show me." And then I waited him out and he put up his left hand. I strolled over to him and attempted to grab it. He moved it away and said, "Don't." I gave him my best older brother stare and he let me touch him.
"Remarkable." I told him as I let go.
"What is?" I turned away from him as I spoke.
"Most people blunder around this city all they see is streets and shops and cars," my back still to him I continued. "When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield." I turned to him. "You've seen it already, haven't you?" I was enjoying myself far too much.
"What's wrong with my hand?"
I looked down at the offending object. "You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." I looked up to his see him nod. "Your therapist thinks it post traumatic stress disorder. She thinks that your haunted by memories of the war of your military service."
"Who the hell are you? How do you know that?" He was rather distressed but I pressed him further.
"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfect steady." He looked down at it briefly. "You're not haunted by the war Dr. Watson. You miss it." I leaned forward and whispered. "Welcome back." I walked off twirling my umbrella. "Time to chose a side Dr. Watson." I said as my girl went to go take him home.
I smiled when she texted me that not only had he directed them to Baker St. but that he stopped to pick up his service pistol.
***
When Sherlock was five I had gained entry in the most prestigious high schools in Britain and left that howling infant behind. Sherlock, my mother told me in my first letter from home, cried for days. But what did I care? I was going to be the best and brightest, smarter than al the rest. And if I kept up my studies I would be in Oxford in three years.
One day when I came home for the Christmas holiday, I found him running around the house with a sword, an eye patch and completely barefooted.
"Sherlock." I said as put my hand out for him to stop. He skidded to a halt in front of me.
"Shouldn't you be practicing like mummy said?" I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for his reply.
"I am practicing!" He told me, his voice chipper. I raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I'm practicing to be a pirate when I grow up!" I rolled my eyes.
"Do you even know what pirates do?" He looked at me, like he was saying 'of course'. "Oh? Enlighten me."
"They go on adventures, sailing the high seas, fighting monsters and getting treasure." Again I rolled my eyes.
"Not even close Sherlock," I told him and he rolled his eyes. "They rape, pillage, and steal. And then when they are done they burn the remains." I saw the sword fall as it clattered to the ground, his blue eye grow wide, and his jaw dropped to the floor.
Not five minutes later, I could hear the mournful scratching of the violin, which he should have been practicing to begin with. But went and saw my parents and the nanny that had been taking care of Sherlock was fired and a new one hired to take her place. Clearly all she was doing was plopping Sherlock in front of the TV while she did other things. Where else would he have gotten the erroneous information on pirates?
***
Upon hearing that my brother had been in danger I went rushing over to that damn college. As I got out of the car, I heard Dr. Watson say, "Sherlock? That's the man I was talking to you about." I wanted to roll my eyes. John clearly couldn't keep a secret. I made mental note of that.
"Oh I know exactly who that is." We moved toward each other like caged tigers.
"So another case cracked. How public spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it?"
"What are you doing here?" I almost sighed.
"As ever I'm concerned about you." I ignored the nervous looks John was giving Sherlock and me.
"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'." His voice dripped with bitterness.
"Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that we belong on the same side?" Sherlock leaned to the side and then back to punctate his words. "Oddly enough. No."
"We have more in common that you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer." I looked down and shook my head. "And you know how it upset Mummy."
"I upset her? Me?" John was now starting to get confused looking back and forth between us. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!"
"No. No, wait…" he almost moved between us as if to intercede. I looked up and then back to Sherlock as John said, "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"
Sherlock answered first. "Mother. Our mother." We both looked to John to make sure he understood. "This is my brother Mycroft." Sherlock looked back to me. "Putting on weight again?"
"Losing it in fact."
John looked at Sherlock in shock. "He's your brother?"
"Of course he's my brother." What else would I have been, I wondered.
"So he's not…" He looked as though his next words sounded ridiculous even to him.
"Not what?" Of course Sherlock would want to know. I didn't. I knew it wasn't going to be good. My worst fears were realized. It was worse.
"I don't know… a criminal mastermind?"
Sherlock smirked. "Close enough." I rolled my eyes and rushed to correct Sherlock before John got any erroneous ideas.
"For goodness sake, I occupy a minor position in the British government."
"He is the British government. When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." I looked down disgusted at his childish display. "Good evening, Mycroft." I looked up amazed that he was being civil. "Try not to start a war before I get home- you know what it does for the traffic." Spoke too soon apparently. Sherlock walked off and it seemed as though John would follow him but he turned back.
"So when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?" Dear heavens what was this man thinking I was?
"Yes, of course."
"It actually is a childish feud?" He seemed to be having a hard time grasping these concepts.
I curl my lips in concern. "He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."
"Yeah…" he seemed distracted as he looked at Sherlock and then realized what I said, he retracted his previous statement. "No. God, no. I better…um…" he saw my PA and said, "Hello again."
"Hello," she barely glanced up from her phone.
"Yes we met earlier this evening."
"Oh!" She sounded so surprised.
"Ok." Clearly he had given up trying to get her number. "Good night."
"Good night, Dr. Watson." I watched as they walked off chatting like old friends.
"Shall we go, sir?" She indicted the car.
I nodded John's direction. "Interesting, that soldier fellow. He would be the making of my brother…" I hissed through my teeth. "Or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their status. Grade 3 active."
"I'm sorry, sir. Whose status?" God sometimes she was so dim. I wondered briefly if I should get rid of her. But decided it would take up too much time training a new one.
"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."
***
Christmas time at Darkwood Manor, the ancestral home of the Holmes family, was never a fun time and this year seemed worse than ever.
Sherlock had still be smarting from my comment about pirates and I wondered what he would choose as his next profession. Whatever it was I knew that it would not be normal.
Sherlock was getting under foot and I decided he needed a game to occupy his mind. "Sherlock," I called. "Come here!" He looked up briefly and then made a mad dash for the garden, in shorts and a t-shirt no less. Apparently he had decided that his game would be more fun than whatever I had planned for him. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my coat and his and made my way slowly through the kitchen doors that led out to the garden.
"Sherlock!" I called as I put on my coat. I looked around and knew exactly where he had gone. The foot prints in the snow led to the rather large planter that held Mummy's prized rose bushes. Sticking out one side was a bit of his shirt that had come untucked. I strolled straight to it pulled him up by his shorts. He screamed his frustration.
"If you are going to be out here at least wear your coat." I handed it to him. But he shook his head.
"For god's sake Sherlock put your coat on!" He stared at me stubbornly. I tried to put his coat on by force and ended up wrestling him to the ground. Soon we were wet and cold and Sherlock still didn't have his coat on. I threw the coat at him and stormed off. I had changed and made my way down to lunch and there was no sign of him. I asked one of the maids if they had seen him but they hadn't.
The house was in an uproar. When he was finally found, he was nearly frozen solid. The maids and Mummy took him off to get warmed up, while I got a dressing down from my father.
"Your one job Mycroft! Your one job is to look after him! And you couldn't even manage that!"
"But father!" I protested.
"Enough Mycroft. You are seven years his senior, you should know better."
"I tried!" I protested again.
"Try harder.'" The cold glare I got silenced me forever on the topic.
I was sent upstairs without lunch and I went to go peek in on my little brother before resigning myself to my room. He was sound asleep. I walked in and sat down on the bed.
"Why did you have to be so stubborn?" I blamed him for this mess. It was his fault. All of it. The being in the cold without his coat. Not taking it to keep warm. The lying there for hours when he could have come in at anytime. The dressing down I had gotten from father. It was all his fault. I got up and stalked out of the room, an angry line arching its way up my back.
As I opened the door i thought I heard a soft mumble, "Serves you right." I whirled to face him but his back was to me. I turned and slammed the door behind me.
At dinner I made comments and deductions about the guests. And he tried so hard to keep up. I laughed when he got it wrong and scoffed when he got it right, telling him an infant could do better.
My brain moved faster than his and I enjoyed the look of confusion on his face when he couldn't keep up.
***
I couldn't understand how he kept getting into these messes. This time he nearly got blown up. Again I went dashing over there to make sure he unharmed. Under the pretense of giving him a case of course.
"Sherlock," I said I entered the now shattered flat. He looked up at me he was actually dressed and playing… well more like "fiddling" with his violin. I moved to sit in the chair opposite.
"That's John's chair." He growled at me pointedly. I sat in it and crossed my legs.
"Well he's not here, so what's the harm?" He glared at me.
"Why are you here Mycroft? More pointless concern?"
"I'm here for a case actually."
"No."
"I haven't even told you what it is." This was starting to sound familiar.
"I don't care."
We glared at each other until we could hear hurried footsteps and the panicked voice of John calling Sherlock's name.
"John," Sherlock finally called at the second panicked call of his name and he plucked away at his violin. I looked up to see John look about the room in utter amazement at the sheer destruction. With John in the room Sherlock seemed more willing to start back up our previous conversation.
"Can't." he told me.
"Can't?" or won't?
"Stuff I've got is too big, I can't spare the time." Again he plucked at his violin. I knew he did it to annoy me.
"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." Sherlock ignored me and plucked the string one more time before gently thumping on the strings.
"How's the diet?" I knew he's trying to get me off the topic.
"Fine." I told him and turned to John. "Perhaps you can get through to him John."
John who was more interested in the destruction of his home than our petty squabble looked up confused. "What?"
"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent." I told him.
Again Sherlock plucked that same infernal note. "If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" I hear the clap of John dusting off his hands and I wave Sherlock off.
"No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so…" I stopped as I noticed the keen interest from both John and Sherlock. "Well, you don't need to know that do you? Besides, a case like this requires…" I sneered, "legwork." Again with that damn note. John rubbed his neck, drawing the attention of Sherlock.
"How's Sarah?" he asked his flatmate. "How's the lay-lo?" I pulled out my phone to check a message and without looking up I utter, "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." I put my phone away to see Sherlock look at his flatmate again.
"Oh, yes, of course."
"How…" John starts and then trails off. "Oh, never mind." He sat down on the couch.
"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became…" I looked for the right word. "pals." I changed tactics. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I'd imagine."
"I'm never bored." I thought back to our first meeting, the thrill seeking Doctor and the near constant need for the battlefield.
I grinned at the memory. "Good. That's good, isn't it?" I stood to hand Sherlock the file but he whipped his bow down defensively and glared at me. I walked over to John, knowing he would take it. "Andrew West. Known as Westie to his friends." I handed him the file and as expected he took it. "Civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea station this morning with his head smashed in."
"Jumped in front of the train?" The medical man was coming out.
"Seems the logical assumption." I informed him.
"But?" he asked. I was taken back.
"But?" I asked in return.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was an accident." Sherlock laughed once. All right so John wasn't stupid.
"The MoD is working on a new missile defense system, the Bruce-Partington Project, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."
John chuckled. "That wasn't very clever."
I scowled at him. "It's not the only copy."
"Oh."
"But it is secret. And missing."
"Top secret?" he asked as he looked up from the file.
"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find these plans, Sherlock." I looked down at him. "Don't make me order you."
"I'd like to see you try." He brought his violin up to tuck in under his chin.
"Think it over." I told him and then I walked over to John and stuck out my hand. "Good-bye John." He stood to shake my hand. "See you very soon." Sherlock began playing the same horrible note as I made my very hasty exit.